


i loved you in secret

by beekathony



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Scotland, something wicked, spoilers obviouslyyy, when he was wicked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29191842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekathony/pseuds/beekathony
Summary: “But that presents new questions,” he said. “Do you lie back and allow me to kneel between your legs, or do you remain above me and lower yourself onto my mouth?”One night, Francesca sneaks into Michael’s room. She tells herself this is the last time.
Relationships: Francesca Bridgerton/Michael Stirling
Comments: 17
Kudos: 85





	i loved you in secret

**Author's Note:**

> “She’d become the wicked one, however much she tried to hide from the fact by telling herself that she was wandering the house at night in her bedclothes because she was restless, not because she was seeking his company.” - When He Was Wicked

**Scotland**

It was raining.

Not that Francesca was surprised by this, as it was Scotland after all. Rain was a near constant, and to be truthful, she found it comforting that you could always count on it. The clouds would appear and you could smell the rain. It wet the grass and the flowers, cooled off warmer weather, and hid any tears one might want to keep to themselves.

The heart, Francesca thought, was _not_ something you could count on.

It was a fickle thing. Always changing, and never doing what you wanted it to. Francesca’s heart was yearning for something… someone. Her mind told her to run and never look back, but it was her heart, that messy organ in her chest that now kept her awake, restless in her bed.

Michael’s room was just down the hall and around the corner. She knew just how many steps it would take to reach his door. How many quiet knocks she would tap on the old wood before entering. How many seconds it took to cross the room to his bed.

Oh, but she _couldn’t._

But she wanted to. Very very badly.

Ever since their night in the small gardener’s cottage two weeks ago, Francesca had stolen into the dark of the night to find Michael in his room, always waiting for her. He never came to her, which she found interesting. However, of course he would allow her to make the decision. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her to sneak into his room nearly every night, he usually leapt from the bed and gathered her into his arms.

She thought of his face, the warm smile he would give her when she peeked though his door. The naughty words he would whisper into her ear. The feel of his hands all over her body.

The servants surely knew what they were up to, but they were also loyal to her. It was raining rather loudly outside so no one would be able to hear her quiet steps down the hall.

Francesca sat up in bed, her heart racing with anticipation of seeing Michael. It had only been several hours since they last departed after dinner. They had talked politely of the weather and of the letter Francesca had received from her mother just that afternoon. It was their eyes that spoke of something else… something wicked.

Michael undressed her with his eyes, removing every layer that covered her skin. She felt it in the heat of his gaze across the dinner table. With every glance, she knew he was picturingher on top of him, or under him or any way in between. And she would be lying if she wasn’t thinking the exact same thing.

She didn’t need a candle to find her way through the house. The silver moonlight was just visible to guide her. Francesca climbed out of bed and opened her door very slowly, not breathing as she slipped out of her room. The large grandfather clock ticked faithfully in the hallway as she crept down the hall.

_One, two, three, four, five, six…_

Francesca counted each step as she made her way to Michael’s room. Thirty-two steps in total.

Thirty-two seconds that she had to turn around and forget the whole thing.

But as she arrived at his door, she saw the soft glow of a flickering candle. He was waiting for her. Who was she to let him be disappointed?

Two quick knocks followed by one.

The door knob turned easily, and Francesca, the wanton that she was entered into her lover’s embrace.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” Michael rose from the bed, laying his book down on the table beside him. He held out both arms, enveloping her in his warmth.

“I almost didn’t,” Francesca murmured against his chest. Oh, but it was heaven to be in his arms. To feel safe and protected. To feel whole and loved. To feel wanted.

“What were you reading?” Francesca asked as Michael pulled her to the bed, gathering her onto his lap.

He glanced at the book, shrugged and said, “I wasn’t. It was merely something to distract myself from running down the hall and banging on your door for the whole house to hear.”

Francesca blushed, burying her face against his neck.

“I wasn’t sure if I should come is all,” she said quietly, hooking her arms around his waist.

“You should always come,” Michael said, humor in his voice. Francesca looked up at him, but he just shook his head, laughing quietly to himself. “You should know by now that my bedchamber is always open to you, Frannie.”

Her fingers moved to caress the wiry hairs on his chest, tugging slightly. As much as she loved to be held in his arms, there was a reason she had come to him tonight. When she climbed into bed earlier that evening, her body had been set ablaze. Every part of her being longed to touch him, to kiss him.

“Michael,” she said softly and turned her head up to him, her eyes closed.

Moving his hands to cup her face, he brushed his lips across hers.

“Michael no? Or Michael yes?”

She grabbed a hold of the back of his neck, crushing her lips to his.

“Michael more,” Francesca kissed him hungrily, chasing that feeling she’d felt all throughout dinner.

As he grew aroused quickly near Francesca (or even when he simply thought her name), Michael was already aching to be inside of her. But he wanted to tease her, stroke her, and have her shaking in his arms before he would give into his own pleasure.

The bed was soft as he laid back, settling Francesca above him, her legs on either side of his body. His hands found her hips, squeezing roughly, and gathering the material of her nightgown.

“Are you wet?” Michael asked.

Francesca nodded, her lips on his jaw.

“How wet?” He asked all while sliding one hand around the curve of her thigh and higher, higher, until he met her center.

“Ahhh,” he sighed. “Dripping,” Michael stroked her slowly, parting her folds.

As if struck by lightning, Francesca’s body jerked, her back arching. She was on hands and knees, desperately trying to get as close as possible to him.

“Please,” she begged, her tongue seeking entrance into his mouth. “I need more.”

“I know,” Michael captured her bottom lip between his teeth.

A rush of cold air swept along her body as Michael pulled her nightgown up and over her head, tossing it to the floor behind him. His chest was bare, and she could feel his arousal through his breeches.

“Take these off,” Francesca groaned, her hands frantically trying to undo the laces.

Michael only laughed at her impatience, kissing her nose quickly before reaching between their bodies and tugging his pants down. He kicked them off, sighing as she pressed her body against his.

“Oh God,” he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut as the heat of her slid along his length. He wanted to sink into her, to use her for his own selfish desires, but first…

“Move up here,” Michael said almost breathless.

“Where?” Francesca sat up, one hand on his chest.

He pointed one finger to his lips, then moved his hand between her thighs.

“Oh,” she blushed furiously. This was something Michael had mentioned them doing in the cottage. Something that Francesca had thought about every night since. He had kissed her many times down there, but never like this.

Offering her his hands, Francesca allowed him to help position her above him just so.

“Grab onto the headboard if you need to, Francesca,” Michael said, muffled from between her thighs. His breath tickled her skin, making goosebumps prickle.

Then he was _there._

His lips were soft and wet. His hands wrapped around her thighs to hold her steady as her body began to squirm.

It was a powerful position, Francesca found. Michael lay under her, his mouth at her center and she moved, swaying above him. Her thighs parted further, and her hands grabbed ahold of the headboard in front of her.

“Oh Michael,” she began to chant as his tongue flicked back and forth on her clit. “Michael, Michael.”

“Move your hips,” he said against her.

She did as he said, first gliding along his lips, then as he stuck out his tongue, she began to move in a figure eight.

Tingles raced across her body as she dipped down and back up, moaning as she heard the wet sound of him and her. Suddenly, one of his long fingers entered her, parting her center and his tongue slid in.

Banging a hand against the headboard, Francesca cried out.

“Shhh,” Michael laughed under her, pleased that he could make her forget about the fact that they were not alone in this house.

“I don’t care,” Francesca moaned loudly as he did something very wicked with his tongue.

His hands squeezed her thighs, and his cock was throbbing. She was making all sorts of sounds above him, her body swaying and thrashing. Francesca had given herself over to him, body and soul. She was utterly magnificent.

“Faster,” she begged, one hand reaching down and gripping his hair. Her hips snapped again and again, taking from him what she needed.

Michael moved his tongue against her folds, flicking and sucking. He knew she was close, but he wanted to feel her flutter around him.

With many protests from her lips, Michael grabbed her body, and flipped her over. He lay against her, pressing himself between her thighs.

“Do you feel that?” He whispered against her mouth, his breath hot.

She nodded, whining as one leg wrapped around his waist. She was desperate.

“It’s you who made me feel this way,” he took her hand, small and delicate and brought it to his cock. She gasped at the weight of it, her eyes wide.

Michael moaned as she stroked him, and he bit down on his lip to keep from coming. It was Francesca that guided him to her center. He slid easily inside of her, and then he began to move.

Their bodies were not graceful, but quick and fast. Hands squeezed thighs and arms, and lips kissed bare skin. Michael snapped his hips, feeling her open up to him. She was wild beneath him, her hands gripping the sheets.

“Michael! Oh God, please!”

“Francesca,” he uttered her name between grunts.

Leaning down he kissed her, wanting to taste his name on her lips. Her hips thrust upwards, taking him deeper and then he simply exploded.

She came alive under him, shaking and clawing at his back.

Michael kissed her, not wanting to break the space between them.

He sank down on top of her, still rooted inside.

“Did that please you, Francesca?” Michael couldn’t help but ask as he turned his head to look at her.

“Very much,” she laughed and stroked his hair.

They lay there, still and silent. The rain continued to pound against the windows, and Francesca didn’t want to return to her own room just yet. In fact, the only place she wanted to be was here in Michael’s arms, safe and held.

“Tell me a story,” she said softly, breathing deeply as he finally rolled off her and onto his side, bringing her against his chest.

“What kind of story?” He asked, kissing her forehead.

“Anything,” Francesca touched a small birthmark on his shoulder.

“Something wicked?” Michael smirked, looking down at her and she laughed but shook her head. “Hmmm, let me think.”

And Michael told her stories of him as a young boy. She listened, of course, but she just wanted to listen to his soothing voice. Under the covers, Francesca felt completely herself. The vibrations of his voice lulled her to sleep and even though he knew she was sleeping, Michael continued to talk until he whispered…

“I love you, Francesca,” and kissed her goodnight.


End file.
